We went to Bonefish Grill in Concord today and while ordering I mentioned to our waiter that we were running out of things on the menu we haven’t tried. There are a variety of glazes and salsas you can get with the grilled fish and the waiter asked if we’d tried “Oscar style.” This option costs a few dollars more so I guess he figured we might have skipped it until now. And I imagine the management likes an upsell so win-win if we bite.
Oscar-style by the way involves adding crab cakes, asparagus, and Bearnaise sauce. I Googled it later and it’s a real thing similar to how calling a recipe “florentine” means you added spinach. I’d never had it before and somehow had managed to completely overlook it on the menu. This was the first time I’d ever heard of it.
It sounds tasty, right? Start with a nice salmon filet cooked to perfection, then top with tender asparagus tips, some lump crab cake, and drizzle a bit of cream sauce over the whole thing. Yum!
Except we never found out because as soon as he mentioned it I lost it. Not just giggling or a quick chuckle, but almost falling-out-of-the-chair ROTFL laughing. My wife, who is accustomed to my fits of free-association entertainment after 35 years, looked on with nothing more than mild interest. To her these are like mild seizures. You just wait them out and pick up where you left off.
The unfortunate waiter on the other hand was a bit taken aback by my reaction.
“Did I say something wrong?” he asked, fidgeting nervously.
“We have a cat named Oscar,” I explained between gasps. “To us Oscar-style means you wolf the food down really fast, find a high-foot-traffic area, throw it all back up on the rug, then casually walk away like nothing happened. So no, we do not want Oscar Style and I really don’t think you want it for us either.”
“I think you’d enjoy it,” he persisted. “Perhaps we can switch out your Coke and Malbec for a Sprite and a nice white wine?”
Now THAT is great customer service. Although I’m not sure the other diners would agree if they had overheard the exchange.
In the end she ordered the mango salsa and I had the pesto, both on the side. As tasty as it might be, we will probably never experience Oscar-style anything. She’ll abstain because she’s as wise as she is beautiful. I’ll take a pass because I’m pretty sure it would be a major choking hazard if every time I tried to take a bite of food I imagined puking it up at the base of the maître d’ station, telling the hostess “I meant to do that,” then casually walking away.